


More Interesting than a Mild Case of Vomiting

by pennswoods



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dragon-pox, Fanart, M/M, Potterlock, Teen AU, Teenlock, Yule Ball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennswoods/pseuds/pennswoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's two weeks to the Yule Ball and John still can't find a date. Meanwhile Sherlock has devised a plan for getting out of this most tedious of school events.</p><p>
  <a href="http://penns-woods.tumblr.com/post/36880435806/more-interesting-than-a-mild-case-of-vomiting-by">Tumblr link.</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Interesting than a Mild Case of Vomiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jumpeonit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jumpeonit/gifts).



> Created for the [Johnlock Gift Exchange](http://johnlockchallenges.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. The prompt was “Yule Ball” and the genre "Potterlock AU". The request was for art, but I wasn't sure my picture adequately captured the prompt. I thought I could clarify things with a little caption, which then turned into a paragraph with some dialog. The next thing I knew, I was writing my first piece of fanfiction in more than 6 years! Thank you to tjwritter for the fast beta and to dickgloucester for the ever essential Brit-picking. 
> 
> I still can't believe I wrote fic!

**Two Weeks to the Yule Ball  
**  
"I still don't have a date," John complained.  
  
The only response was a noncommittal hum from the figure draped across the four-poster bed.  
  
"I'm serious, Sherlock. It's only two weeks to the Yule Ball, and I still don't have a date."  
  
Still no response from the bed.  
  
"Who are you going with?" John asked as he tossed a pair of over-ripe Quidditch socks into the corner of the room.  
  
"Dull."  
  
"What?" John yanked a squashed golden yellow pillow from beneath his friend's feet.  "Hey, no shoes where I put my head."  
  
"Dull."  
  
"What is? My desire to sleep on something that doesn't smell like Hagrid's Hut or the Yule Ball?"  
  
"Both." Sherlock flopped onto his side pulling his Ravenclaw robes tightly around himself like a security blanket.  
  
"I don't know," John continued, perching at the edge of his own bed and staring pointedly at Sherlock’s shoes, which were now on a different pillow. "Could be fun. I hear they're planning a special menu, and that Professor Trelawney's dress robes are legendary."  
  
Sherlock cracked open a single eye to peer up at John.  
        
"And they'll have moving ice sculptures," John added. He'd never been to a party fancy enough to have ice sculptures let alone ones that moved.  
        
"For god's sake John, you're a wizard. You can transfigure your own moving ice sculptures. You don't need to go to a tedious school event for that."  
  
John found himself the object of a scornful blue-eyed gaze but didn't mind. He'd managed, at least momentarily, to break through Sherlock's current bout of epic tedium.  
  
"So who are you going with?" he asked again.  
  
"I'm not."  
  
"Sorry, what?"  
  
"I'm not going," Sherlock said slowly and sat up.  
  
"It's mandatory, genius," John reminded him.  
  
Sherlock smirked. "True. But I shall be indisposed with dragon-pox; the highly contagious but fast-acting kind that requires patients be quarantined for 36 hours from the onset of symptoms."  
  
John snorted. "And just how do you think you're going to manage that? You can't just plan to get sick."  
  
"Magic, John," Sherlock replied and steepled his fingers beneath his chin in what John was beginning to think of as his evil genius pose.  
  
"Right. Thanks for the clarification." John jerked the other pillow from under Sherlock's feet and stomped over to his desk. "Maybe I'll ask Sarah. She's nice enough, and she actually likes spending time with other people."  
  
 **  
One Week to the Yule Ball**  
  
"So how did it go with Sarah?" Sherlock asked as he perched next to John at the end of the Hufflepuff table.  
  
John's mouth was full of food, but a dull flush suffused his cheeks at the mention of Sarah.  
  
"Ah," Sherlock began taking in John's look of misery and red cheeks and deducing the answer. "I see, she turned you down in front of an audience."  
  
He grabbed a roll from John's plate and proceeded to pick it apart.  
  
John swallowed and rubbed his face. "Can we not talk about this right now?"  
  
Sherlock edged slightly closer to John and lowered his voice, "She's a terrible dancer anyway."  
  
John kicked Sherlock under the table to get him to drop it, but couldn't restrain his own curiosity. "How would you know?"  
  
"The scuffing on the bottoms and sides of her shoes. Incredibly clumsy. She would have been tripping over you all night."  
  
The triumphant look on Sherlock's face faded when John failed to express appreciation.  
  
"Yeah well, at least I would have had someone I could dance and talk with." John returned to pushing food around on his plate while Sherlock continued not eating John’s roll.  
  
"John," Sherlock sat up quickly. "Forget about the Ball. You can be quarantined with me."  
  
John sighed. "I still don't know how you really think you can fool Madame Pomfrey into believing you actually have dragon-pox. You're not that good an actor."  
  
"I told you John, magic. I've been working on a potion that helps mimic the superficial symptoms of dragon-pox without the irritating ones. No lasting discoloration or scars and only mild vomiting. It will be finished within the week, and I've brewed enough for two." Sherlock looked pleased with his thoughtfulness.  
  
"In what world is mild vomiting preferable to a clumsy dance partner?"  
  
"To no dance partner," Sherlock corrected. "It's clearly preferable to that."  
  
"Right," John said, finishing the last of his pumpkin juice as he stood up. "As tempting as it sounds, I think I'd rather a night of looking slightly pathetic to 36 hours of mild vomiting."  
  
Sherlock looked unimpressed.  
  
"Look, I've got to run. We're in Greenhouse 3 today and Longbottom's a right martinet when it comes to being on time. See you in double potions?"  
  
"Of course." Sherlock shrugged and placed the scraps of uneaten roll back on John's plate.  
  
As John hurried off with his fellow Hufflepuffs, he missed the fleeting look of disappointment that crossed his friend's face.  
  
  
 **Two Days to the Yule Ball**  
  
“Damn Harry!” John paced Sherlock’s room in agitation. “I should have known she’d forget to place the order.”  
        
Sherlock sat draped over his chair, watching his friend fret. John was clearly distressed as evidenced by the manic movement and the creases in his school robes. He’d obviously been waiting more than half an hour for Sherlock to return to Ravenclaw tower to let him in.  
  
“Now I don’t have a date or anything to wear.” John grabbed the collar of his crumpled school attire. “I’m going to look extra pathetic showing up in this!”  
  
“No you’re not.”  
  
“What? You propose I show up in nothing at all?”  
  
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. “No, I propose you show up in one of these.”  
  
With a flick of his wand, his trunk flew open, spilling out an array of sleek dress robes, all in various shades of blue and black.  
        
John stopped his pacing to stare, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Why do you have a whole collection of dress robes in your trunk?”  
  
Sherlock merely assumed his evil genius pose.  
        
“No seriously, is this for an experiment? Did you rob a store or something?”  
        
“Of course not,” Sherlock lounged lower in his chair and mumbled, “Family functions.”  
        
“What?”  
        
“You heard me,” Sherlock grumbled.  
        
“What kind of family function requires dress robes?”  
  
“The tedious kind.” Sherlock was nearly horizontal in his chair.  
  
“They’re so blue,” John remarked as he grabbed one out of the air to examine it.  
  
“The Holmeses are nothing if not proud of their house.” Sherlock sighed.  
        
“I’m seeing that.” John held the much too long sleeve of the robe against his own arm. “Mycroft’s sorting must have been a huge disappointment, then.”  
        
A brief look of glee stole across Sherlock’s face. “You have no idea.”  
  
He sprang from his chair to grab a set of robes hovering behind the mirror. “I think this one will do.”  
  
John took the proffered garment and held it up against himself as he peered into the mirror. “I don’t know. It’s so Ravenclaw.”  
  
Sherlock took in John’s reflection. “It’s the same blue as your eyes. It suits you.”  
  
For a moment, Sherlock’s eyes fixed on John’s in the mirror. They were wide and curious.  
  
Sherlock turned away abruptly. “Now stop standing around like an idiot and try it on. I need to transform it to fit you.”  
  
  
 **One Day to the Yule Ball**  
  
“Did you hear?” John was breathless with excitement as he plunked himself down at the edge of the Ravenclaw table next to Sherlock. “There’s going to be roaming mistletoe at the ball!”  
  
Sherlock pulled his nose out of the book he was reading to give John a curious look. “This sounds like a Slytherin scheme and an obviously terrible idea.”  
  
John laughed. “Right. Probably, but it should be good fun. Just imagine Hagrid getting caught next to Flitwick.”  
  
John began to giggle, toppling into Sherlock in his mirth.  
        
“And what are you going to do if you find yourself under it?”  
  
“I don’t plan to. Quick Quidditch reflexes, remember?” John then proceeded to demonstrate his quick reflexes by relieving Sherlock of his book. “What are you reading anyway? Something to do with your dragon-pox scheme?”  
  
“No.” Sherlock grabbed the book out of John’s hand and snapped it shut. “That has all been taken care of.”  
  
“So you’re really going through with it?”  
  
“Yes. I’ve calculated everything down to the minute. I should begin showing the first symptoms just in time for lunch tomorrow.” Sherlock looked positively pleased at the thought.  
        
“And what are you going to do when you start dry heaving because there’s nothing in your stomach since you never eat?”  
        
“Thank you, Healer Watson,” Sherlock interrupted, “but that won’t be a problem.”  
  
John scowled. “Just because I’m not a Healer yet doesn’t mean I don’t have a point.”  
  
Sherlock huffed and waved a hand, dismissing John’s concern. Both were silent for a moment as the Great Hall buzzed with the noise of excited students.  
  
“Come with me?” John said softly.  
  
Sherlock glanced at him. “What?”  
  
“You can come with me,” John said more firmly.  
  
“I can’t. My plans,” Sherlock stalled.  
        
“I know, 36 hours of mild-vomiting and temporary spots. You’ll be bored after three hours. Come with me. You can deduce how much people spent on their dress robes and who really wants to be caught under the mistletoe,” John argued. “It’ll be fun.”  
  
“I,” Sherlock hesitated, sat up straighter, and looked carefully at John who was beginning to fidget under the scrutiny.  
  
“Oy, Holmes!” came a shout from the other end of the Ravenclaw table.  
  
Sherlock flinched. John looked away.  
        
“Flitwick wants to see you in his office. Now!”  
  
“John,” Sherlock began quickly.  
  
“S’alright. I understand.” John stood and started moving away, “I’ll see you after. Good luck with the vomiting.”  
  
“Thanks. You too,” Sherlock stammered, “I mean, good luck with the mistletoe.”  
  
John smiled at that, but Sherlock noticed that the smile did not entirely reach his eyes. **  
  
**  
 **The Yule Ball**  
  
“Did you see the ice sculptures move?”  
  
John grunted in response.  
  
“John, did you?” insisted Mike, a fellow Hufflepuff also in sixth year.  
  
“Yes, great, fantastic,” John replied. Though the sculptures really hadn’t been that great, and Trelawney’s dress, while a bit of an eyesore, hadn’t been that spectacular either. Sherlock was right; John had been at the Yule Ball for all of 20 minutes and was already bored. Even the roaming mistletoe had been a let-down since certain people had a tendency to seek it out and keep it occupied.  
  
“What do you think Hagrid did to his beard?” Mike asked, apparently oblivious to John’s misery. “Do you think he turned it green deliberately?”  
  
John looked across the snowy white wonderland that was the Great Hall at Hagrid’s garish green beard. He had no idea, though Sherlock would be able to tell after just one look.  
  
“Well it’s certainly festive,” Mike added before suddenly jumping up in excitement, “Oy mate, heads up. Here comes the mistletoe.”  
  
John looked up to see the bewitched greenery making for the corner he and Mike currently occupied. Mike and the few others sitting nearby had already scattered to avoid getting caught. John merely sighed and stayed seated as the mistletoe came to rest just over his head. It wouldn’t leave until John kissed or was kissed by someone. On the plus side, this meant he would most likely be left alone for the duration of the Ball.  
  
He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall, and wondered what Sherlock was doing at this very moment.  
  
“Is this seat taken?” asked a low and familiar voice.  
  
“Sher-Sherlock?” John sat up in surprise, taking in his friend’s lanky form, clad in black dress robes and sprawled across the chair next to him. “Shouldn’t you be quarantined?”  
  
“Obviously not.”  
        
John laughed. “What happened? Did Flitwick confiscate your potion?”  
  
“Not exactly,” Sherlock grinned, taking in John’s smile. “I decided I’d rather be bored here with you than be bored by myself for a day and a half.”  
  
“Is this your way of telling me I’m more interesting than a mild case of vomiting?” John teased.  
  
Sherlock laughed and glance up at the bit of greenery floating just over John’s head. “And what happened to your Quidditch reflexes?”  
  
“Oh that.” John colored slightly. “I figured it was a good way to get people to leave me alone since, you know, whoever sat next to me would have to kiss me.”  
  
“Oh really?”  
  
“Yeah,” John licked his lower lip. “Look, I don’t think anyone’s noticed yet, so if you give me a minute, I might be able to get Sarah or someone to help me get rid of this and we can talk.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Well, it is a bit distracting.”  
  
“I meant, why Sarah?”  
  
“Because she’s a friend, and I don’t think she’d mind too much.”  
  
“I’m a friend, and I wouldn’t mind at all.” Sherlock leaned closer, holding John’s gaze. “In fact…”  
  
“Oh,” John exhaled, a feeling of warmth blossoming in his stomach. “Oh, that’s good. That’s very good.”  
        
Sherlock shifted even closer, his eyes on John’s mouth. “As long as you don’t mind.”  
        
John felt himself leaning toward Sherlock. “Why would I mind?”  
        
“Because you like girls.”  
        
“I do,” John agreed, leaning closer still. “But I like you most of all.”  
        
And with that, he closed his eyes and kissed his best friend.

 

 

 

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